


Childish Things

by Flyting



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baelfire is selected as tribute in the Games. Trying to survive his first night in the Arena, he thinks he might have found an unlikely ally in Emma Swan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Childish Things

Night had fallen.  
  
 It wasn’t like back home- where the sun crept down slowly, painting the world in a hazy, red-tinted twilight before finally slipping below the horizon. There was no warning. It was as if someone had simply reached out and snuffed out the sun. All at once, Baelfire found himself standing in a darkened forest, surrounded by the looming shadows of unfamiliar trees.  
  
There was no point in continuing on in the dark. It wasn’t as if he had anywhere urgent to get to, anyway, beyond getting as far away from the Cornucopia as possible. He wasn’t going to get far when he could barely see two paces in front of him, and starting a fire would be certain death.  
  
Hitching his pack tighter on his shoulders, he chooses a tree- a sturdy-looking old willow whose long tendrils should, he hoped, keep him safely out of sight until morning- and climbs.   
  
If he forced down the sick lump of fear that sat in his belly, this part wasn’t so different from home, really. Hand over hand, foot over foot; testing the thinner branches before he put his weight on them. The bark under his hands is familiar. Trees like this one grow in the forest just beyond their village. He had climbed plenty of them, looking for birds’ nests he could raid for their eggs.   
  
That thought leads into other, less welcome thoughts - of gathering birds eggs to add to their supper, of the smell of home- that make the lump in his belly threaten to rise up and choke him. His father’s haggard face flashes before his eyes; the way he’d clutched at Bae’s shoulder as they dragged him from the room, desperate to hold on just a second longer.  
  
_“I can do it. I know how to hunt. I can fight. Maybe I can win.”  
  
“They don’t want you to fight, son, they want you to die!”_  
  
Baelfire inhales deeply and forces a smile, just in case Papa’s watching right now. They didn’t have a television in their house anymore- the hulking old thing had stopped working last winter, and for all his father’s skill at fixing things everyone else thought were beyond repair, he’d never been able to get it working again- but surely one of their neighbors would let him watch with them? Everyone watched the Games.  
  
Bae isn’t sure whether the thought that his entire village might be watching when he dies is a comfort or not. Best not to think about it.   
  
“There. Easy,” he says out loud, as much for his father’s peace of mind as his own, settling into the crook of a heavy branch and forcing himself relax just a bit. He’ll be safe up here, at least until morning. May as well get some rest.  
  
The soft denim pack makes a lumpy sort of pillow, and his jacket bunched up around his shoulders isn’t much of a blanket, but he finds that sleep comes the second he closes his eyes.  
  
A rustling in the branches just below wakes him, his heart pounding in his chest before he even fully registers what he’s heard. His breathing comes in short, terrified gasps- he clasps one hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sound, his ears pricked for the telltale ring of voices, or the flit of arrows.  
  
There’s nothing. The night is unnaturally still. Not even a bird or cricket song breaks the silence. It’s still pitch black- no telling how long he’s been asleep.   
  
 The rustling comes again, sending faint tremors along the branch he’s sitting on. A faint, whispered,  _“Ow._ Damnit. _”  
  
_ Slow and silent, trying not to stir so much as a leaf, Bae cranes his head over just enough to look down. When his eyes adjust, a shadow in the tree below him forms itself into a human shape, no bigger than him. Long limbs are wrapped around a branch just beneath him, and feet scrabble to find purchase against the trunk of the tree. A flash of moonlight catches on blonde hair, tied back in a long ponytail.  
  
He must have made some sound, because her head shoots up. Terrified blue eyes find him instantly in the dark, and his heart catches in his throat.  
  
 He recognizes Emma. Of course he does. Even if he hadn’t known her face growing up, after the Reaping everyone knew Emma Swan.  
  
Princesses do not fight in the Games.   
  
The Games are supposed to be fair, of course. Every child of age in the kingdoms, whether they’re a princess or a pauper’s son, has an equal shot at being chosen as Tribute. But sometimes the odds really are in your favor. A castle full of gold can buy anything- including a volunteer to take the place of the Prince’s daughter.  
  
_“Emma Swan.” Reul, always so buoyant in her sparkling blue dresses, faltered, her painted lips stumbling over the name.  
  
A murmur cut through the crowd, not quite loud enough to cover her mother’s gasp of dismay.   
  
No one was surprised when, instead of the princess, a small girl in a threadbare blue dress, her dirty blonde hair pulled back in a delicate ring of braids, stepped out of line.  
  
“I volunteer,” she said, in a voice that barely carried beyond the closest few rows.   
  
Bae’s father had clutched at his shoulder as she walked past them, her head held high. They knew Morraine. Her family- parents and four smaller brothers and sisters- must be worse off than anyone realized.  
  
Volunteering in the Games was a death sentence, but one that guaranteed a lifetime of security for the family you left behind.  
  
Suddenly there was a commotion from further back.  
  
“No she doesn’t!” Emma said, pushing her way ahead of the other girl.  
  
“Emma!” her mother had whispered, eyes wide with panic.   
  
But the girl’s jaw was set as she mounted the dais. “My name was called. I’m the one who was chosen. No one is volunteering for me. I’m the one who’s going to fight.”  
  
_ Bae had admired her, then, watching her take her place on the stage with her head held high. The thought of being chosen terrified him, but he had long ago decided that if his name was called, he would go without a fight and try his best to win.  
  
It was easy to be brave when you didn’t have any other choice.   
  
He wasn’t sure what he would have done had he been in Emma’s position.   
  
Bae feels frozen to the spot with her eyes boring into him. He had the upper hand and they both knew it. He has the higher ground; the better position. Her hands are occupied trying to keep hold of the tree. Even if she has a weapon, she wouldn’t be able to get to it.  
  
He should… kill her, shouldn’t he? That’s why he’s here. He thinks of the short, stubby little knife in his pocket. Tries to imagine himself leaning down and-  
  
“Don’t-“  
  
“Shh!” he hisses, urgently. There’s another sound coming from the woods below them; voices, coming closer. Emma freezes, wrapping her arms tight around the branch. Even in the dark he can see that her eyes are wide with fright. He plasters himself back against the tree trunk and tries not to breathe.  
  
Quiet footsteps cut through the undergrowth not too far from them. “She came this way, boys. I’m sure of it.”   
  
Bae recognizes the voice of Felix, the looming career tribute from Neverland. He was the one who had picked up a club and bashed in little Flynn’s head at the Cornucopia.  
  
Another voice, lighter this time, “ _Come out, come out, little princess_. We only want to play.”  
  
Peter.   
  
Bae’s heart catches in his throat. He thinks he might have heard Emma whimper.   
  
_“If you have to die,” Killian had said, nodding at the elfin boy in forest greens, who was sending arrows flying at straw practice targets with mercenary precision, “Don’t let it be him that gets you.”  
  
“Yeah? Why not?”  
  
“Because it’s all a game to him. The others will be kind enough to just kill you. They’ll want to get it over with. Him? He’ll want to play with you first.”  
_  
Baelfire clearly wasn’t the only one who noticed Emma at the Reaping.  
  
Muted laughter and muttering. It sounds like there are four or five of them in all- Peter and Felix and a few others he doesn’t recognize. Bae thinks he hears a girl’s voice with them as well.  
  
“Hold your arrows if you see her. That one’s mine,” Peter says.  
  
Another voice, older, rougher, with an accent that sounds not too different from back home, “That soft little thing? You can keep her. I want the boy.  I want to make him cry _just like his daddy.”_  
  
This sets off a spate of nasty, childish laughter, and Bae is certain he heard a girl’s voice this time. It’s a moment before he realizes they’re talking about  _him_. He feels his cheeks heat in the dark, thankful that no one can see.  
  
“She might be around here somewhere. She can’t have gotten far,” he hears one of them say, through the ringing in his ears.  
  
Footsteps- the careful tread of someone used to traveling silently through the forest- stop just beneath their tree.  
  
“ _Little bird, little bird,”_ Peter sings softly. Now Bae can just make out the shape of his blonde head and shoulders through the branches below. Pressed back against the tree trunk, Bae’s fairly well sheltered from the casual eye, but if Peter should look up there’s no way he could miss Emma clinging to one of the lower branches.  
  
He holds his breath. The unnaturally silent forest is an aid to the predators at work tonight, but not much help at all to the prey. He’s terrified Peter will hear the pounding of his heart.   
  
There’s a sound from below them, long and low, like the call of a bird or an owl. More muffled laughter.   
  
Below him, Bae sees Emma’s arms are starting to tremble from holding on so tightly for so long. The position must be painful. Her eyes are squeezed shut.

Bae doesn’t allow himself time to think about it. In one smooth motion his hand closes over the knife in his pocket, drawing it out and flinging it through a clearing in the leaves, into the night. He hears it whistle faintly, cutting through the air end over end, before there’s a resounding  _clack_ and rustle as it strikes a tree far off in the distance and clatters down through the canopy.   
  
The sound cuts through the dense silence, and they alight on it like hunting dogs catching a scent.  
  
“Alright boys. Let’s play.”  
  
They’re gone in an instant, disappearing into the forest like ghosts, with barely a rustle to mark their flight.  
  
Bae waits as long as he thinks she can stand, just to make sure they’re really gone, before leaning down.  
  
“Here-“ he offers Emma one hand, wrapping the other around the nearest sturdy branch. She stares at him warily for a long moment before easing her shaking grip on the tree and clasping his hand, palm to palm. Together they haul her up easily.  
  
“Thanks,” she says quietly, settling herself on the branch next to him.  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
The words sound strange here. Manners belong in a world where everyone isn’t trying to kill everyone else.  
  
Emma must think so too, because she laughs a little.  
  
Who’s he kidding? Bae knew from the moment he recognized her that he couldn’t kill Emma.  
  
“It’s Bae, right?” she asks, catching his eye. “I remember you. From the Reaping.”  
  
“Everybody does.” He felt his face heating again.  
  
_He hadn’t even heard his own name when she called it. He had watched Reul’s mouth moving as she read the words on her little slip of paper, felt the blood rushing in his ears, but it was his father’s voice he heard.  
  
“Oh no, no nonono…”  
  
He was clutching at Bae so tightly he thought his shoulders would break. Everyone was staring at them.   
  
The part of him that was still a child wanted nothing more than to bury his face in his father’s chest and hide from their eyes.  
  
Reul was staring at him. Emma was staring at him.  
  
 He knew what he was supposed to do. He had seen it enough times.   
  
It felt like moving in a dream, everything too bright and too sharp to really be happening. He pulled his way out of Papa’s clinging grasp. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, carrying him out of line and up towards the dais that had been erected in the town square.  
  
He could still hear Papa’s voice, and the urgent tapping of his walking stick on packed earth as he trailed behind.  
  
“No, you can’t… Not my son, please, you can’t take my son… ”  
  
Bae’s step faltered, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t bring himself to turn around. Couldn’t look anywhere but straight ahead, at the rickety wooden steps leading up to the dais. He knew his own panic would take root if he saw his father’s face.   
  
“Please don’t take my son…!”  
  
Rumplestiltskin’s panic was catching. There was unhappy muttering from the crowd as soldiers moved in to drag him back. Bae flinched at the sound of a struggle. Reul’s face was pained, fixed in a too-bright smile as she pointedly ignored the commotion.  
  
“Bae! Bae!”  
  
_ Bae shook his head a little to banish the memory. “I’m all he has,” he muttered. The words are far too familiar on his tongue.  
  
He tries again, huddling up against the tree trunk in an effort to stave off the creeping cold, “I guess everyone thinks I’m a pretty easy target after that, huh?”  
  
“You’re not the only one.” Emma huffed, but it was a hollow, empty sound. She wrapped her arms around her knees. “You heard him down there. ‘Poor little princess.’ They’re fighting to be the one who kills me. The whole world’s just waiting to see who wins.”  
  
“Why are you here, then?” he can’t resist asking. “You didn’t have to come. Your parents would have paid a fortune for someone to take your place. You could have stayed home.”  
  
“And let someone else, someone I don’t even know, die for me. Spend the rest of my life knowing that someone doesn’t have a daughter or a sister because I was too scared to fight. It’s not fair.” She sighed, then rummaged around in her pocket and drew out one of the packaged protein bars that had been strewn around the Cornucopia. She unwrapped the silver foil and broke off a piece, offering it to him.  
  
“You should save that,” he said. “We might need it tomorrow.”  
  
“Or we might be dead tomorrow.”  
  
“… good point, I guess.” He took the piece and popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly. It was sweet, sweeter than anything he was used to back home.  
  
She takes a piece for herself and fixes him with her bright-eyed stare. “You could have killed me. You had the chance. Why didn’t you?” __  
  
Bae takes a moment to finish chewing the sticky sweet protein bar and swallow. “I don’t want to kill anyone,” he says honestly.  
  
Emma arches one eyebrow at him, “Well you’re sure in the wrong place.”  
  
He can’t help but laugh and soon they’re both giggling quietly in the dark.  
  
“What are you going to do, then?” Emma says. “Just stay here in this tree until the rest of them kill each other off?”  
  
“I could do that,” he says, laughter dying. “I don’t know. I don’t want to die. My father- I promised him I’d try to win. But I don’t want to let them turn me into a killer either.”  
  
Emma watches him silently, with something close to sympathy on her face. She doesn’t need to say anything. They both know it’s a fool’s dream- that before the end of the Game he will either be killer or killed, as surely as the sun sets in the evening. That doesn’t stop him from wishing.  
  
 A cannon booms in the distance, causing them both to jump.   
  
“That’s one more down, then,” Emma says quietly.

 He wonders if Peter and the others found someone to play with after all. Emma shivers. Perhaps she’d been thinking the same thing.

“Move over.” She shuffles her way across to sit pressed close beside him in the crook of the branch.   
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
The limb is wide, but even sitting side by side there’s barely enough room for two unless they huddle close together, as she seems intent on doing. “Getting some sleep. I’m exhausted. I suggest you do the same.”  
  
“And how do I know you won’t push me off in my sleep?” he asks, only half joking.   
  
“How do I know you won’t?” she counters.  
  
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Truce until morning?”   
  
“Truce until morning,” she agrees, shaking his proffered hand.  
  
It’s warmer beneath his jacket with the heat from both their bodies, and Bae finds that Emma’s shoulder makes a much better pillow than his lumpy pack. He’s asleep within moments, lulled by the quiet sound of her breathing.


End file.
